


Black, Two Sugars

by Nakimochiku



Series: 30 Lives and Chances [9]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren thinks of just staying down, laying on the dirty pavement with coffee all over him, until a pair of hands haul him up like he weighs nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black, Two Sugars

"Fuck." For a solid minute, Eren thinks of just staying down, of just lying on the pavement, hot coffee seeping into his brand new Armani shirt and quickly cooling. He thinks of giving up, until large hands close around his shoulders and haul him to his feet.

"I'm so sorry. Oh my god, your shirt! Ah, here--" he rifles through his pockets and finds a handkerchief. Eren briefly wonders who the hell carries around handkerchiefs, before he's being patted down with it.

"Forget it, it doesn't matter anymore." Eren shakes droplets of coffee off him and looks down at the brown splashed up his front. "Maybe this is an omen," he laughs, thinking of crying. "Maybe I just shouldn't bother trying to get to this presentation." He sighs again and picks up his suit case. "Sorry about your everything." He says, even though he doesn't know why he's apologizing, when this guy ran into him. He's about the leave when the guy grabs his wrist.

"No." He says simply. "I can't ruin your day and then just let you walk away without trying to fix it."

*

 

"And what the goddamn fuck do you think you're wearing?" Levi demands, giving him a disappointed once over.

"Had some trouble on the way over." Eren looks down at his borrowed shirt. It is wrinkled, smells like the bottom of a backpack that's been bathed in cologne and possibly a car freshner. He has a number in his phone for one Marco Bodt, a backpacker from some ass crack of the arctic circle, or so Eren's gathered through quick texts back and forth.

"And that's why you're wearing a--" Levi's squints at the font. "Pierce the veil band shirt?"

Eren just shrugs, defeated. "Either pierce the veil or fall out boy sir, and I didn't think the red went with my slacks." He wonders belatedly what kind of twenty-something year old has a wardrobe made purely of band t shirts and ripped jeans, items reserved purely for kids still in their scene kid phase, then decides that Marco Bodt had been a disaster to begin with, his wardrobe really shouldn't surprise him.

"I'm gonna need the full story, because my intern showed up to work late, looking seven shades of tragic, without my coffee, in a band t shirt." Levi waves his fingers at his entire ensemble, breathing disdain.

So Eren fills Levi in; about finding a Tim Hortons to stop in while Marco apologized over and over, and thrust shirts under Eren's nose to replace his coffee stained, two hundred dollar Armani shirt, while he had it dry cleaned.

Marco punched his number into Eren's phone, and promised to call as soon as his shirt was clean.

"And you trusted him?" Levi demands, leaning over his desk. “You trusted a college age dweeb backpacking across the country? Who the hell backpacks across Canada? Are you insane? Is he insane?”

“He didn’t exactly leave me much choice. We’re meeting up at a cafe or something near the ROM after work?"

Levi makes a disgusted noise. "Hate the ROM." Then he gives Eren a shrewd glare, pointing his finger at him. "If your shirt isn't pristine when he gives it to you, charge him full price for it. Then take his stupid pierce the veil shirt while you're at it."

"Full price? But I got it seventy percent off?"

"So? Turn a profit. Have you been learning nothing here?"

*

 

Marco is late. His hair is sweaty and he's puffing hard when he searches the stylish little cafe for Eren, who waves at him sheepishly. He has the shirt tossed over his arm, wrapped in flimsy plastic.

"Hey." He gasps, dropping his backpack beside the table. "Sorry I'm late, I had to run for the tram, and I'd never actually been on a tram before. Toronto's a pretty confusing place when you don't live here, and the tram driver told me--" noticing Eren's dry look at Marco's babbling, he rubs the back of his neck and smiles like a school boy. "Anyway, here's your shirt."

Eren takes it and inspects the fabric through the dry cleaner plastic. It looks as good as new, and Eren sighs in relief.

"Okay well--" Eren starts getting up to leave.

"How about I buy you some coffee!" Marco interjects, standing abruptly. "To apologize you know, for yours this morning--"

"Its okay, it wasn't actually my coffee--"

"Please let me." Marco's eyes are big, dewy and honey brown, wide as a sad starving puppy, and Eren can't bear to kick him when he obviously feels so bad.

"Okay." Eren sighs, taking a seat. He twists the plastic around his fingers, stretching holes in it. Marco returns with a tall, whip cream and chocolate syrup concoction with a tiny twist of a smile, and his own more mundane strawberry frappe. Eren looks boredly out the window, sipping his concoction. It tastes of syrupy thick caramel; he hates caramel, but he can't complain about a gift.

"So um, that shirt's Armani right?" Marco starts awkwardly, gesturing vaguely at the roll of plastic and fabric over his arm, held there like a shield. Eren hums, and Marco bites his lip but ploughs on. "That's pretty fancy, where do you work, to be able to afford such nice stuff?"

"SinaCorp. I used to intern for the vice president, and he liked me so much he hired me right out of school." Marco's eyes widen in awe. "What about you?" Eren tries, suddenly awkward too, so that they stumble and bumble through conversation together. "You have like, six pierce the veil shirts."

"They aren't mine." Marco shrugs, then flushes a little at Eren’s quizzical frown. "I mean, I own them, but I didn't pick them. I have six older brothers, nothing is new in my family, everything is handed down." He points at his fall out boy shirt and laughs. "I don't think I've ever actually heard a fall out boy song."

"Ah--" Eren says clumsily, because what does he say to that, as an only child, spoiled rotten, with an Armani shirt over his arm? "Maybe I should just--" he stands to go, and Marco stands to apologize, or protest, or bid him goodbye, Eren doesn't know. All he knows is he barrels into a large chest, caramel/whip cream/chocolate syrup splashes on them both, and Eren is on his ass again, contemplating fate and karma and all those other rotten bitches.

"Fuck." He says, and considers just staying down, whip cream streaking his forearms. Above him, Marco guffaws a hearty laugh and reaches out a hand to heave him up as though he weighs nothing at all. "What's so funny?" Eren snips, grabbing for napkins and wondering why most of this god awful drink has ended up on them and not, say, the stylish tile floor.

"Just thinking everything's come full circle." Marco grins.

Eren drops the napkins on the table, exasperated. "Do you wanna maybe... Head to my condo, shove your clothes in the wash at my place?"

Marco looks like he couldn't be happier to be wearing a worn band shirt decorated with caramel slush. "So long as you don't offer me coffee."


End file.
